


What We've Become

by Aobiscotti



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Allmate High AU, Early Days, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aobiscotti/pseuds/Aobiscotti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening in the life of single parent Aoba Seragaki raising one child that's his and one child that isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We've Become

**Author's Note:**

> The Allmate High AU is property of tumblr user prince-ichi

In the rapidly dimming light of the kitchen there is Ren at the table, patiently doing his homework, gripping the pencil awkwardly as he hesitantly answers his simple addition problems. He hums as he does it too, softly but loud enough for Aoba to hear in the small kitchen. The other child doesn’t sit in his chair properly, on his knees to give him leverage while scribbling wildly across the page with the reckless abandon of a child given crayons. Tori had a fifty pack of them. They were a recent gift from Mink when his earnings barely exceeded their necessary income. But Aoba, watching Tori beam at his colorful creation in progress, knows they won’t last very long and soon he’ll be back to just using pencil. Not that the kid ever seemed to mind too much.  

Out of his peripheral vision, Aoba keeps his eyes trained on the two little boys as he prepares their dinner of macaroni and cheese-  _surprise, surprise_. It was really his mistake for taking requests on the way home from school today, then obligated to do it or face a barrage of either  _that’s not fair’s_  or mild tantrums depending on how tired they were.

“Tori?”

As the older child is called upon, he looks up, his arm slowing its strokes rather than just pausing as he meets Aoba’s eyes. “Huh?”

“I need you to watch this for me just for a minute, alright? Yell if something bad happens, don’t touch it.” Not that Aoba really thinks Tori would put down the crayons in favor of a pot boiling over. Ren is much more likely to do something like that, and Tori is much more likely to stop him.

“…’kay,” he nods, promptly returning to his masterpiece, drawing in broad circles this time. Aoba places a lid on the pot of boiling noodles, wiping his damp hands on the towel draped over the oven handle beneath the stove.

“I’ll be right— “

As he turns his back on them to walk away, he’s cut off by an agitated groan from Ren and immediate, profuse apologies from Tori. Without looking he can picture Ren’s nose crinkling the way it does when he gets upset or frustrated, the occasional pout to accompany. From the sound of it, Tori got carried away and accidentally colored on and across the table again, onto Ren’s paper.  And, as usual, Aoba does not need to moderate the situation. He will, however, have to get the crayon off the table later. He continues on his way to throw a load of laundry in the wash, knowing that the boys will settle things themselves. They’ve always been good at working through their problems and out their differences.

This— this silly little scene playing out behind him— is what things had become, almost day in and day out. This was Aoba taking care of Tori so Mink could work and not worry about leaving the child alone for hours at only six years old or shouldering the costs of daycare. It started off as Mink dropping a younger Tori off at the home Tae shared with Aoba and Ren. He would be fed and supervised by Aoba and picked up later in the evening by Mink, sometimes late enough to where he had to carefully carry off a sleeping Tori. The good part was that the kid slept like a log. Occasionally there would be mornings when Tori would wake up in Ren’s bed, because late in the night Aoba would receive a call. On the other line he’d hear a tired voice, and it would tell him to just put Tori to bed and not to wait up. His heart always sank a little in those instances. For Tori. For himself.

But somewhere along the line things shifted. Aoba began bringing Ren to Mink’s place and looking after both kids there. Mink’s home offered more space for them to play during the day and allowed Aoba to help out with a little more than just Tori’s caretaking. Truthfully, Mink needed more help than he’d ever directly admit to. Laundry, cleaning, and not to mention he thought the man could use a good meal on a regular basis. He never argued or even seemed to openly acknowledge Aoba’s doings around his house with anything other than an appreciative nod, just accepting that occasionally he’d have clean sheets on his bed or an uncluttered kitchen. At first Aoba’s pride demanded at least a little recognition for his going the extra mile, something more than silence at the very least. But that wasn’t Mink; Mink wasn’t the kind of person to spoon feed him compliments or dote on his good intentions. It took time and patience, thick skin to endure the silences and heavy atmosphere Mink carried with him, but Aoba eventually came to understand the circumstances in which he’d found himself.

For all his hard work, Mink deserved something better than the cards he’d been dealt. And with empathy in his heart, Aoba decided he’d become that something.

After finishing up laundry, Aoba was able to move through the rest of the night without meeting too much opposition. No food fights at dinner or meltdowns after the boys realized he’d slipped some veggies into their meal. Tori played civilly, Ren took his bath civilly, and, most importantly, both of them go to bed civilly. Aoba is left to very quietly clean up the kitchen, trying to put up plates as soundlessly as possible; on top of the fact that Ren can be a light sleeper, he’s not far out of earshot, sleeping on the couch. But as Aoba closes the cabinet with great care, he feels a weary tug at his pants regardless of his efforts. Looking down, he doesn’t see the hazel of Ren’s eyes, but rather the top of his head where all that dark blue hair spawns. The child has his forehead rested so lightly against his father’s leg it’s hard to even feel. Aoba doesn’t hesitate to pull Ren up into his arms, letting the little boy rest his tired head in the crook of his neck.

It takes no dialogue whatsoever to understand why Ren is up and walking around. It happens frequently enough to the point where he just slips Ren into bed with Tori, letting him curl up comfortably beneath the blankets with Mink’s heavily sleeping child. This is what he wants. Be it that he just didn’t want to sleep on the couch or he wanted Tori, Aoba’s not sure; he doesn’t ask. Whatever the reason, Aoba lets a sigh tainted with selfish relief pass his lips as he closes Tori’s door. He no longer needs to worry about getting Ren home tonight, and by default, himself as well. The couch is now his to lay in wait for Mink.

But that’s a bit of a stretch. Being that it’s nine thirty and he’s absolutely exhausted from another day of errands and chores and handling kids, Aoba knows he’s lying to himself when he thinks about waiting up for Mink. He knows that the second his back hits that sofa, he’ll be out the same way Ren is now.

Aoba falls back onto the familiar comfort of Mink’s couch, cradling a pillow in his arms where sometimes Ren would complacently sleep. He sinks into unconsciousness thinking that just maybe he’d be lucky enough to hear Mink come in, to be able to greet him with something other than the silence of his sleeping household. It seems he comes home to that far too often.

It’s not entirely that luck doesn’t favor him, but his rapidly fading awareness renders him unaware when the time comes. Aoba doesn’t hear the soft click of the door as it opens and closes or the considerate footsteps across the worn wooden floor. Aoba doesn’t feel Mink’s tired eyes on him as his body rises and falls with each slow breath, nor does he feel the brush of Mink’s calloused fingers on his cheek when he brushes strands of vibrant blue hair away from lips parted in the clutches of sleep.

But the next morning he does wake up strongly embraced by the comforting scent of cinnamon, to a quilt draped over his barely conscious body. He doesn’t need to have seen him or heard him or felt him to understand. He knows that Mink has once again broken their silence silently, and to Aoba, it’s thanks enough. 


End file.
